


Kingmaker

by Crocodiles Fanclub (cassiel_aurion)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 1970's AU, Multi, No MSQ spoilers, Other, bowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25040896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiel_aurion/pseuds/Crocodiles%20Fanclub
Summary: Seven men learn to overcome adversity through camaraderie and their shared love for bowling in the hope to win the outer-league championship.
Relationships: Bros playing bowling
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. In a little Lominsa bar...

Celestin Bellerose crushed the rest of his fogweed cigarette in the ashtray, emptying his lungs of the smoke. The _Bowling Post,_ freshly printed this morning, was in his hands. Its smooth, glossy cover was depicting the Bowlers of the Seventh Dawn, victoriously holding the Auracite Cup. In that picture, they were all frozen in time, arm-in-arm, forever happy and triumphant. “ _UNDEFEATED FOR THE FIFTH YEAR IN A ROW._ ” could be read in bold letters. Yes, there was a ten-page coverage. No, Celestin didn’t want to read it.

He quickly flipped through the magazine, his gaze still getting caught into one of the too-many-pictures of Thancred Waters. The second prettiest bowler alive, if the polls were to be believed. (That first place was still going to Aymeric de Borel.) On page four, Alphinaud and Alisae were waiting:  _ “The sixteen-summers old prodigies, the Leveilleur twins. _ ” On its recto, this: “ _ An exclusive interview with the mysterious Bowler of Light. _ ” Ah yes. The most skilled player of all Hydalen. The champion of the Seventh Dawn. To this day, they were still unbeaten. 

The Auracite Cup news left behind, he flipped some more through the magazine. Besides an advertisement for the new Mammet 77 Pinsetter, an interview with Rammbroes Zasertylsyn. In a few sennights, it would be the anniversary of the first expedition within the depth of the Crystal Tower. Between Rammbroes’ statements, pictures of the original NOAH group. G’raha Tia unearthing five thousand years old bowling lanes. Cid nan Garlond holding an ancient Allagan ball. Biggs and Wedge trying to piece together a worn down automatic scorer. At this moment, six years ago, the whole world held its breath. As more and more history was being recovered from the Crystal Tower, everything the scholars theorized was confirmed: the Allagans have been bowling for centuries.

_ R.Z.: “Hahaha! I can understand this is difficult to say. ‘Bowling’ is borrowed from the Allag tongue. This is very complex to translate in Eorzean common, however, the most accurate interpretation we have so far is ‘kingmaker’. As far as we know, this sport has been exclusive to royalty for centuries.” _

_ BP: “How much bowling played a role in the Allagan daily life?” _

A splash page of a picture depicting every member of the expedition, at the foot of the Crystal Tower. Tucked between G’raha and Cid, the Bowler of Light, their left hand on Nero’s shoulder. Everyone’s face was dirty, their eyes were tired but their smile...! 

R.Z.:  _ “As far as we know, it is not only how they made war but also peace. There are records of Allagan nobility settling disputes with bowling. We also believe this is how they would resolve any royal succession if conflict about the throne would arise.” _

_ B.P.: “This is better than having one’s country embroiled in a civil war.” _

_ R.Z.: “Very much so. That is not all. Just recently, we have found steles of the Emperor Xande subjugating Bahamut with a perfect game. This is not a coincidence Dalamud was shaped like a bowling ball. As you can see, it was more than a sport. It was a tool of communication, negotiation, and dominance. It has been intricately tied with the Allagan way of life.” _

“Ye alone tonight?”

Halting his reading, Celestin raised his gaze toward the bartender. A hulking piece of a roegadyn woman, her hands fitter to wield a battleax than a rag. She had skin as dark Seawolf could get and, from wrists to shoulders, she was covered in intricate tattoos. He never dared to ask what they were or what they meant. His hypothesis? They were runes from the old Wolf language; a forgotten tongue with only a handful of speakers still alive today.

Guolbryda -as it was her name- had her head shaved except for a vermilion mohawk raising in the middle of her skull. She had a piercing shining through her left nostril and, even if he couldn’t see them, Celestin knew she was wearing heavy leather boots. He could hear them stomping on the wooden floor every time she was taking a step.  _ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

The woman slid a beer on the counter. He caught it nonchalantly.

“No.” Celestin continued flipping through the  _ Bowling Post _ . “Qih’wo will be joining me soon.”

“Aren’t we forgettin’ the little magic word?”

“Thank you.”

“Yer welcome, dickhead.”

“Ah. There it is. Your charming personality that compliments your lovely figure. You are exquisite as ever, my dear wife.”

“Go fuck yerself.”

In a sigh, Celestin turned another page. As he was about to say something to his bound and legally wife, Guol raised her voice.

“Oi! I tol' ye many times! If ye have weapons, ye fight OUTSIDE! Only fistfights be accepted here!”

Celestin had a tired glance over his shoulder. Ah, Twelve. Two drunk men -one hyur, the other lalafell- locked into the era-old argument of  _ “Is violence acceptable to end the class struggle? _ ” The answer was too complex for two drunkards to quarrel over. Sadly, you can’t expect someone that had one-too-many beers to be reasonable.

Grabbing an Ishgardian firearm tucked under the counter, Guol cracked it up, pointing it alternatively on the two troublemakers. 

“Both of ye! Outside! Before I blow yer heads off!”

“You can blow me anytime, Guol!” Screamed another patron. “And don’t worry. Professor Foureyes can watch! We wouldn't want him to get jealous!”

Her gun still holding up on the troublemakers, the roegadyn had a smirk.

“I be takin' yer offer, but I'm afraid ye wouldn't last five seconds.” Without warning, she angled the canon a few ilms toward the ceiling, unloading a bullet. “Ye lads are deaf? I said outside!”

Without protesting much, the troublemakers left, their steps as wobbly as their bickering they had a few moments ago.  _ The Hypnotic Nanka  _ came back to more or less a state of calm. As calm as an underground bar full of angsty, angry revolutionaries wearing leather jackets and Doc Martens could be.

“Is it me or he’s gettin’ fatter every time I see ‘im?”

“Mh?”

Celestin peeked over his magazine. His wife was looking toward the exit and someone, who clearly didn’t belong here, was approaching. 

An overweight Keeper of the Moon, traversed the bar, attracting derives glances on his way. In a jungle of leather jackets and plaid pants, overly expensive designer shirts and polished shoes were simply _ improper. _

“Could you have picked a better place to meet?” Spat Qih’wo, pulling a stool from under the counter.

Something Celestin never understood is why the miqo’te would never fasten his shirt all the way up. Instead, he always kept them three buttons undone, giving view to his grey and flaccid flesh. He sat, the golden chains around his neck clinked together, before disappearing where they came from: in his luxurious chest hair. 

“Ye got a problem with my bar, Yer Majesty?” Taunted Guol.

The miqo’te removed his shades, putting them down on the table. In the pub’s low-light, his rings glimmered. He was wearing so many of them on all his fingers, it was a contest of how many he could stack together without having any falling off. 

“Are you taking complaints?”

“Like I will from ye!” Guol slapped the bar, glasses clicking under the impact. “I’m pullin’ yer leg, ye fat fool!” 

“Celestin, when they are not tamed, you do not bring them in public.”

Guol’s jawline tensed. “Want yer face to meet yer ass?” The muscles of her neck rolled when she straightened up her back. “I can do that for ye.”

“Only if you wish for a public health inspector to meet this hell hole. I can do that for you.”

In unison, Guolbryda and Qih’wo turned toward Celestin.

“Tell your wife-…”

“Tell yer friend-…”

Targeted by this unwanted attention, the elezen raised his hands:

“You solve your disagreement yourselves. I am not getting in any of this.”

“Look at t’is! I wed a coward!”

“For once,” nodded Qih’wo, “we agree.” He turned toward the man at his side. “You are my friend but you often lack  _ manliness _ .”

“Do I, now?” 

Celestin dropped  _ Bowling Post _ on the counter, slapping its covers together. He was about to put it away when Qih’wo, quicker, reached out for the magazine and snatched it up. 

“Twelve,” he waved the periodical with disgust. ”Are you still reading that trash?” 

“You can find good articles in there once in a while.”

“I do not believe you.” He quickly flipped through the newsletter before stopping at a specific page. He cleared his throat before reading: “ _ How come Zenos yae Galvus’ posterior looks so huge in his bowling pants?” _ He raised his eyebrows. “Truly journalism to the high-end degree.”

“Give me that.” Celestin wrested the  _ Bowling Post  _ from Qih’wo’s hands, shoving it in his briefcase. “Let me pay you your first drink.”

“Your wife is an uncultured sow but at least you are civilized.” The miqo’te pointed his chin at Guol. “Martini.”

The bartender snorted.

“To get a martini, ye need to get off yer butt, walk out o' the docks, past the fishin’ guild. Then, ye take the stairs to the sky, go left at the aetheryte plaza, keep goin’ until ye see a discotheque. Ye can get yer fuckin’ martini there.”

“My, I had no idea it was so convoluted.” There was a short silence. “Very well. I will take whatever Celestin is having.”

“Do ye want a little paper umbrella with it, me good sir?”

“Yes.”

Guol laughed, loud as a cannon, reaching down for the ice-crystals cold box.

“Celestin, I need to tell you. Earlier, I saw a bald spot on your head.” 

“Oh.” He reached behind touching the same location his friend was talking about. “Yes, I also noticed this a few sennights ago.”

“Can you believe it, at our age…” Qih’wo shuffled in his breast pocket, taking out his pack of cigarettes. “This is too early.”

“No one is getting younger, Qih’wo.”

“Please. We are not even forty.”

The Keeper of the Moon petted himself, looking for something.

“I am sorry to say but you do look forty.”

“You take that back. Now.” After emptying his pants’ pockets, he looked at his friend. “I forgot my lighter in the car. Care to lend me yours?”

“I fault your grey hair,” said Celestin, handing over his ignition device.

“Honestly…”After a few cranks, the tip of his smoke enkindled. “I prefer to go grey than be depilated.”

“You could always dye them back to their natural black.”

“I thought of it. If the rumors are to be believed, doing the tail is unpleasant.” He inhaled deeply. “If it was only pain, that would not be bothering me. If I dye them…” He exhaled a long trail of smoke through his nostrils. “...Louis will laugh at me for the next Era or so.”

Celestin nodded in silent approbation, taking a sip of beer. Knowing Louis, he had no difficulty imagining him jeering at Qih’wo’s life choices.

“Talking about him, is he not with you?”

Qih’wo made a ‘no’ with the head.

“He is attending a blitzball game. Even if he were to be free, I prefer keeping our drinking nights without him.” 

“Mistbeards’ balls, look at ye yappin’!” Guol took a falsetto voice. “Oh, me grey ‘air! Oh, me balding spot!” She put down a beer in front of Qih’wo, a piece of paper wrapped around the neck of the bottle. “Make me believe yer lasses sittin’ at me bar!” 

“Do not get me angry, woman,” hissed the Keeper of the Moon.

“Ye shut the fuck up and enjoy yer beer with yer umbrella _ , me good sir. _ ”

“I would appreciate it if you could watch your language when addressing my wife,” calmly interjected Celestin. “I know it is difficult, but you could at least try.”

“Do you know what her behavior means?” Qih’wo pointed Guol, cigarette tucked between his index and middle finger. “She is ready to be a mother, my friend.” 

The miqo’te unwrapped his ‘paper umbrella’ that had been tied around his beer bottle. As he was opening it, he noticed something was scribbled in there. His left ear swished back when he read it. Y...O...U...R...E...A...C...U...N...T. You’re a cunt.

“Look at her, always nagging.” He crumpled the message in a ball, throwing it over his shoulder. “If she is not begging for your seed, I do not know what is.”

“Please do not say those words in that order ever again.”

“Now is not a time to play prude.” Qih’wo flicked his ashes before taking a new puff. “Besides, I do not think a roegazen would be that ugly.”

“I reckon a roegazen would be terrifyin’,” said Guol. “Elezen's stretched out proportions glued to a roegadyn’s physique? I weep fer the poor kid an' 'e's not even born yet.”

“What do you expect?” The Keeper of the Moon glared at her. ”Free love does not come without consequences”

“Is that so?” Squeezed in Celestin. “I would recall you are dating a certain midlander at the very moment.”

“My point exactly. We’re  _ dating. _ We’re not wed.”

“What kind o' bloody difference does it make?”

“First, does not make me a degenerate. Secondly, he is a man.”

“Being in an interracial wedding,” commented Celestin, “makes you a degenerate but having a homosexual interracial relationship do not. What a flawless logic.”

Guol snicked. “Do you ‘ear him? Degenerates!” 

“I do indeed hear him.”

“'ow do ye do, me  _ degenerate  _ 'usband?”

“I am feeling quite well, thank you. How do you do, my degenerate wife?”

“You both can laugh as much as you want,” whirred the Keeper of the Moon, “but I know I am right.”

Neither husband nor wife answered to that. Qih’wo finished his cigarette and mashed angrily the butt in the ashtray, mumbling something for himself.

“You plan to enter the outer-league tourney this year, yes?”

“Of course,” answered Celestin. “Is this even a question?”

“Do you wish to win?”

“Always.”

“Then get rid of the Tech-less loser.”

Celestin sighed, rubbing his temples. 

“Why are we having this conversation again?”

“I have told you many times. The Auracite Cup will always be out of reach as long we have burdens in our teams. Valtin is one of them.”

“Mister Valtin has a very weak Technique…”

“It is not weak,” cut the miqo’te, “It is  _ useless _ .” 

“...yet he practices more than anyone else. You know full well you do not have his precision on the bowling lane. In spite of that, you continue to belittle him.”

“I do not need precision because I can  _ actually  _ channel my Aether when throwing my ball.”

“If this is how you feel about him, I fear to know what you think of me.”

“You…” Qih’wo’s lips straightened up in a thin, crisp line. ”You are different.” 

“Am I?”

The Keeper of the Moon took a swig of beer, looking away.

“Of course.”

“Mh.”

Celestin finished his ale, Guol asked him if he wanted another one.

“Not for now, thank you.” He looked at his friend. “Are you sure discharging mister Valtin will guarantee we will be crowned the champions this year?”

“No. We also have to get rid of Beaumont Junior.”

“Now, now, what is your gripe with mister Ezrien?”

“He is too average.”

“Are you aware that if we kick Ezrien out of the team, his brother will quit?”

“W-Well…” Qih’wo licked his lips. “We only have to make compelling arguments so Beaumont Senior stays.”

“This is cute. You think you can argue with mister Rochel.” The elezen laughed dismissively. “With mister Valtin and the Beaumont brothers out of the Armadillos Bowlers, it will be just like old times: you, Louis, and me. And, just like old times, we will be unable to enter any competition because of our insufficient number. Is this your plan, Qih’wo? It is unacceptable.” 

“What is the alternative, then?”

“What we did for three years. Practice and try again.”

“You must see this is not working!”

“This is not about-...”

“We  _ cannot _ make it. We need better players to compete.” He slammed his fist on the counter. “To win!”

“Better players are not born, they are made.”

“This is wrong and you, more than most people, know you are wrong.”

Celestin’s gaze hardened and his tone sharpened.

“I beg to differ.”

“No amount of practice will change a worthless Technique to a good one.”

“Perhaps so. However, I told you when we created the Armadillos Bowlers together. We leave no one behind.”

“This is not how we will win the cup, godsdamnit!”

“If you are dissatisfied with how I run the team, you know what to do.”

“Complain?”

“Quit.”

Qih’wo’s ears flattened on his skull and his tail trashed the air around him in sullen, sweeping arcs. 

“You get that idea out of your head, Celestin, I am not leaving the team.”

“May I ask why?”

“I built the Bowlers with you. I want to win with you.” He angrily waved his hand. “It is meaningless if I go play for someone else.”

“That is good because I did not want to lose my vice-captain.”

Silence. 

Refusing to look at his friend, Qih’wo tugged on his sleeves. “Look, I know I will not be able to change your opinions about the… skill level of certain people and how we should deal with it.” 

Celestin took a deep breath, readying himself and the miqo’te quickly concluded. 

“Can we agree that we need new blood, at least?” 

“That… is a good idea. We still have a free spot to fill.”

“And please, this time, do not pick up the first trash you see on the side of the road and bring it to practice day.”

The captain of the Armadillos Bowlers rolled his eyes.

“Do you wish for us to argue again? Because this is how we argue again.”

“Sorry, sorry!”

Celestin raised a hand, putting an end to this conversation. 

“Let us have no more of this. Instead, how do you feel about a game of pool?”

“I am down for it as long the loser buys the winner a drink.”

“Why should it be otherwise?”

After a few matches, Qih’wo’s skill had caught the attention of the other patrons. The  _ Hypnotic Nanka _ habitués quickly gathered around the pool table, taking turns to play against the Keeper of the Moon - there was more than one wanting to see ‘if this bloody bourgeois could handle himself’. Eventually, even Guol, the Eight-Ball Queen, stepped in. Wielding her custom-made cue stick nicknamed Lady Lead, she took on the challenger that dared to thread on her domain. After two heart-stopping games, one won by Qih’wo, the other by Guol, the miqo’te suddenly cursed after a quick look at his wrist chronometer.

“What? It is late already?!?”

“Is something wrong?” Asked Celestin.

“I need to pick up Louis at the amphitheater before he gets on public transport.” He chugged what was left of his beer. “You know what happened last time he did that.”

“I do remember.”

“You will understand I do not wish to repeat this ordeal.”

“What be it, bourgeois?” Provoked Guol, twirling Lady Lead between her fingers. “Afraid the queen will rip ye off a new asshole?“

“This bourgeois needs to pick up his boyfriend or we will all wake up tomorrow under Lominsan martial law.” He threw his faux-fur coat on his shoulder. “As for the second asshole making,  _ I  _ will be the one drilling  _ you _ a new one next time I come here.”

“'ah! Like this will 'appened!”

“Please give my salutations to Louis,” voiced Celestin, raising a hand in goodbye.

“I will. Good night.”

“Be safe on the roads.”

“See you earthday at the practice.” He walked toward the exit, only to turn on his heels halfway through. “And get your wife pregnant!”

The miqo’te left the  _ Hypnotic Nanka _ after one last goodbye. Celestin picked up his suitcase.

“Goin’ home?” Inquired his wife.

“Yes. I have forgotten I have exams to correct before tomorrow.”

“E'er thought o' throwin' yer students' copies down the stairs an' rate them from 'ow far away they fell?”

“I can do that if I would not mind losing my job.”

“I'll 'ire ye after ye 'ave been fired. Ye can clean the shite off the bathroom floors.”

“I would be a fool to refuse such an amazing career opportunity.”

“Ye would.”

Buttoning up his tweed coat, he reached in his pocket to get out his car keys. Guol went back behind the counter to load the dishwasher. 

“Don’t be waitin’ fer me.”

“I know. You shall be home late, as usual.”

“Aye. Won’t be there before six o’ the mornin’.”

“Have a good night.”

“Night.”

  
  


Throwing his briefcase on the passenger’s seat, he groaned when he saw the pile of midterms waiting for him. He turned the key in the ignition of his Ford Pinto, exhaling a relief when he heard the motor roared - he couldn’t afford a new trip to the magitek mechanic now. Taking the car outlet out, he lit up a cigarette before driving home. Riding through the streets of Limsa Lominsa, Qih’wo’s words were still resonating in his head: “ _ This is not how we will win the cup, godsdamnit! _ ”


	2. Captain’s eyes don’t lie

“Oi, Mr. Bellerose! Here for a quick game?”

Even if it was a fireday afternoon,  _ The Drowning Wench _ was bustling with activity. It was one of the best bowling establishments in Limsa Lominsa - going to the  _ Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss’ Bowling Lanes _ was what someone would do when the wallet was thin. There was a rotten stench to that place, an unholy combination of miqo’te urine and dried vomit, that would cling to one’s clothing despite many washes. To make matters worse, the owner of the _ Edelweiss’ _ , Captain Jacke, was barely comprehensible. What in the seven Hells was dimber damber, anyway?

“ I would at any other time, Baderon, but I am afraid that I am in a hurry today.” Behind him, Celestin could hear balls hitting the lanes loudly. Just by the sound, he knew someone wasn’t throwing properly. “I am here to sign us up for the moonly Lominsian Face-Off.”

“Eh, need the coin?”

The elezen pressed his lips together, repressing a sigh. “Registering for the Auracite Cup is not free.”

“Nothin’ free’s in life.” The hyuran man raised a finger, having a Eureka moment. “Well, ‘cept air.”

“I heard you can buy bottles of compressed oxygen in Garlemald.”

“Wh-…?!?”

“I am not lying.”

“Never said ye was.” Baderon’s expression darkened. “Them bloody imperials. Can ne’er know what they will come up with.”

Celestin pushed his glasses up his nose. “Considering their magical impairments, they have but no other choice than to get creative. As for myself, I am simply grateful we are not at war with them anymore.”

“Ye be 'appy with that?” Baderon mumbled something under his breath, shaking his head. There was an awkward silence but quickly, his frown lightened up. “So, ye be tryin' again fer the cup next year?”

“We are.”

“I 'ave to admire yer confidence…” The owner of the  _ Wench _ had a chuckle. “...and yer stubbornness!”

Celestin’s shoulder stiffened up. “This is not stubbornness.”

“It be not? No offense, but yer team didn't even qualify in the preliminaries this year!”

“Perhaps so but I plan to fully prepare the Armadillos Bowlers this time.”

“Ah! Youth!” 

Shuffling through a pile of papers, Baderon carried on:

“Ye gonna have an ‘ard time against the Maelstrom. I 'eard they 'ave recruits, straight out o' the prison-ship. Big lads…” Baderon extended his arms wide, invoices still tucked between his fingers. “...that stained the bowlin' lane with blood!”

“If I am honest, the team that concerns me the most is the Ishgardian Dragoons.”

“Hehehehe! Old Thordan can't keep this up fore’er. Next year will probably be ‘is last tourney. 'e's past 'is prime, 'e can't be that much o' a threat anymore, can ‘e?”

“I would not be so sure. Have you ever witnessed his Technique?”

Baderon made a ‘no’ with his head. “Ne'er saw it.”

A shadow passed in his interlocutor’s eyes. “This is something you can never forget.”

“Makes you wish Admiral Merlwyb was a man. I be sure she would beat that coot down to a pulp.”

The captain of the Armadillos Bowlers had a sorry smile. “Alas.” 

“Ye know Mr. Bellerose, there’s nothin’ like a woman born ‘n raised in La Noscea! They’re the toughest!”

He had a thought for his wife. More precisely, that time she shot an Ahriman through the eye while driving at 93 mph on the highway toward Camp Bluefog. “ _ Where are these fuckin’ adventurers when we need them? _ ” she kept screaming while angling the muzzle. One bullet, it’s what it took. The Voidsent had crashed in the front window; it took forever to scrape its skin off the windshield wipers.

That has been a weird honeymoon. 

“I concur.”

Baderon put away his paper in his envelope, which he sealed. “The Lominsan Face-Off fer the Fifth Astral Moon is not the next iceday, but the one after.”

“We will be there.”

“Be right back at ye.”

While the  _ Wench’s  _ owner stepped back into his office, Celestin shuffled through his breast pocket, looking for his cigarette. Inserting his last one between his lips, he took a look around. On lane four, there was a Seeker of the Sun couple, more kissing each other on the lips than playing. On lane ten, a lalafellin grandmother, surrounded by a lot of little ones, was teaching her tricks to another generation. On lane fourteen, a lone roegadyn man, definitely worse than he imagined himself to be, was trying to show off to no one in particular.

And then, he found the source of that horrible noise. 

On lane one, a trio, two midlanders, one dunesfolk, were playing together. They were all pretty young, around eighteen to twenty summers old, and by their raggedy looks, they must be university students. At first, he thought they were all women only to realize one of the hyurs was in fact, male. He had rosy brown hair, flowing freely to the middle of his back, decorated with a crown of dried flowers. He had delicate, effeminate features: long and thick eyelashes, little and gentle hands, graceful and thin waist. Washed out pair of jeans, cowboy vest, tie-dyed t-shirt: someone was shopping in thrift stores. There was a pin, affixed to his jacket, where one could read ‘SUMMER OF LOVE’. 

Ah. So he was one of _ those _ . 

Celestin was about to look away when that long-haired hyur stood up. It was his turn.

He walked toward the ball tray, taking his time to pick one. His choice made, he engaged the lane. His steps were nothing more than a disorganized wobble, aimlessly going left to right -he looked like a Chocobo ready to keel over and die. That was followed by an atrocious delivery, decidedly in Celestin’s list of “ _ top five worst ball throwing I ever witnessed in my existence _ .”

What a dreadful form!

That young man was a neophyte in the purest manner. When he threw the ball, Celestin groaned, already knowing the result. There was no way it could-

Strike.

The elezen opened his mouth and his cigarette fell off. 

What, why, how?

Wait. Something was odd. The way the flea market aficionado threw, it was impossible to hit more than two or three pins. Then, how could he knock them all off? 

_ Beginners’ luck? No. There is something more here. _

Second roll. After a dance -or Celestin thought it was a dance, that strange wiggling of arms and legs was up to interpretation-, the long-haired ‘prodigy’ picked another ball. That time, He bent down, throwing it between his legs, just like children do. Celestin winced. Ah, that was so painful to watch!

The ball rolled. Rolled, rolled, rolled. Slowly, at a snail’s place, devoid of all inertia. No way it would-...

It gently bonked on pin three. After some lethargic wiggling, it fell off. Immediately, pin six and nine tumbled over, even if the impact never touched them.

Celestin took a step forward.

_ Wait, this is… Aether. Ah, I understand, now. _

Fingers trembling, Celestin picked up his cigarette on the counter. He couldn't believe what he just saw… That young man, he-… He was reaching for his lighter when he changed his mind. No. He wasn’t in the mood anymore. He put back his last smoke in its package. 

_ Even a fresh recruit does not throw a ball like that. That flagrant discrepancy... there can be only one explanation possible.  _

Baderon was back. “It be ten gil.”

The elezen looked away. It was the lalafell’s turn and he wasn’t interested to see this trainwreck. He handed over a bill with Kan-E-Senna’s face printed on it to Baderon and watched as the hyur filled the form.

“Ye be on the list, mister Bellerose.”

“Thank you.” Celestin pointed toward the triumvirate of amateurs he was watching earlier. “Baderon, do you know this hyur over there?” 

“Ne'er saw 'is face before.”

“Do you know if he is registered in any of the local bowling teams?” 

The old man slowly realized what Celestin was saying. “Wait, don't tell me ye want to scout 'im.”

“I might just do that at this very moment.”

Baderon glanced at lane one. When he looked back at Celestin, he had only one expression. Concern. “...Do ye need a new pair o' specs?”

“I do not, I had those adjusted three moons ago.”

“Ha!” Baderon shrugged. “There be only one man in 'ydaelyn that there be interested in a complete greenhorn! That be ye!”

Celestin raised his hand in goodbye. “Have a good sun, Baderon.”

“Good sun to ye too, Mr. Bellerose.”

Celestin crept closer to lane one and observed. There were a few words about this trio’s playstyle. Amateur. Brutal. Crude. Dangerous. However, the deadlier of them all was doubtlessly the hyuran lass. She wasn’t throwing the ball as much as she was  _ hurling  _ it. That wasn’t bowling. 

That was blitzball.

At one point, it slipped out of her hands. Celestin’s heart skipped a beat, watching the bowling ball, completely out of control, traversing the air at speed it shouldn't move. It missed someone’s head by only a few ilms, who was now sporting a few strands of hair out of place instead of a missing head. The object of mass destruction eventually ended its course in a soft ‘thump’ having its momentum stopped by a giant Chocobo plush toy. 

_ I am sure witnessing this made me balder.  _

It was with the Twelve's luck that no one was hurt. Not even her pride. She jumped in place, letting out a “ _ Woo! Look at it go! _ ” while the long-haired prodigy clapped. Their third friend’s frown simply deepened.

The game was in its ninth frame. The Walking Menace threw her balls two times. Two times it ended up in the gutters. Two times Celestin thought someone was going to die. 

He walked toward lane one. “Excuse me…”

“Hello!” Miss Danger has stepped forward. It seems she was one of the people that had only one volume: very loud. “I’m Cecilia North!”

“This is very nice. I am Celestin Bellerose, this is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

The elezen peeked over her shoulder to see if he had caught the young man’s attention. To no avail. The long-haired prodigy was currently watching his hands with an intensity Celestin had never seen before. 

Tenth and final frame. It was the lalafellin lass’s turn. She jumped off the bench.

“I know this may seem a bit odd... Earlier, I was watching you play. May I ask which team you are playing for?”

“Woah, really?!? I’m not part of any team!”

_ Thank Halone. _

She turned toward the dunesfolk. “What about you, Ruruka?”

The lalafell raised on her tip-toe to find a bowling ball for her size. “...I used to be part of a team when I was younger.” Her tone was curt and she didn’t bother looking at Celestin when speaking to him. “I’m not in one anymore, I don’t have time for it.”

“What about…?” Celestin pointed the yet unspoken bowler with his chin. 

Silence.

While the automatic scorer was calculating the final tally, Ruruka walked toward the quiet hyur. At his height, she dug one of her tiny fingers into his cheek. “Ephraim.” 

No reaction. She poked him again, more and more fiercely until the poking transformed into full-blown slapping. 

“Hello? Is there anyone home?!?”

Finally, a response. He blinked. “Where?”

“Is your brain missing again?”

“I-I’m…” His voice was softer than afternoon rain. “...not sure. I will have to check. Have you seen it recently?” 

Ruruka pointed at Celestin. “Weirdo over here is asking you a question.”

The young man looked at the elezen, smiling softly. “Cool.”

“Care to answer him so we can finally leave?”

“Answer what?

“His question.”

“Which question?”

Ruruka heaved. “Have you not paid attention at all?!?”

“No, sorry.”

Sitting across the young man -Ephraim was it?-, Celestin finally, met his gaze. “Good afternoon. I am Celestin Bellerose.”

“Hi.”

“I was watching you play earlier and I wondered if you were part of a bowling team.”

“Me…? No. I’m not.”

“Is that right?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“It's a rhetorical question, dumbass,” intervened the Ruruka. “You’re not supposed to answer those.”

“Oh, really? I had no idea.”

“For how long have you been bowling?”

“Uuuh, since we’re here.”

“This was your first time?”

“Yeah!”

Cecilia And Ruruka were changing their rental shoes for their usual footwear. Ephraim stood up, looking for something

“I have noticed something about your playstyle.”

“Nice!”

“Are you aware you are a rogue Technique-user?”

Ephraim’s gentle expression changed for concern. “How long do I have left before I die?” 

“I…” Celestin blinked. “Why would you think that?”

“Aroguetecknikuser is a deadly lung condition, right?”

The elezen opened his mouth slightly. What was he supposed to answer to this?

“You…” He cleared his throat. “...do not even know what a Technique is?

“Should I?”

“If I can be so bold, I would say most people know what this is.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t forget to leave the shoes to Mr. Baderon!” Chirped Cecilia.

Celestin cleared his throat. “This is an Aetheric manifestation, much like magic, except that one is very much tied to one’s soul. Every good bowling player can exhibit one-…”

“Ephraim, hurry up,” cut Ruruka, “or we’re leaving without you.”

“Oh, yeah, I should hurry,” answered her friend. “Umm, where are my shoes? I keep looking for them...”

“Here!” Said Cecilia, handing him over a pair of flipflops. 

Celestin started speaking more quickly than usual. “...except for Pure-Blood Garleans but let us not get into this. It usually requires arduous training to bring out a Technique. I was extremely surprised to see you can do it without anyone’s guidance.”

“O.K.”

Celestin watched Ephraim removing his shoes, was this a contest on how slowly one could undo shoelaces?, before donning his thongs. 

_ Why are you wearing sandals in the middle of winter? Do you not feel cold at all? _

Holding the rental shoes in one hand, Ephraim walked toward the counter, Celestin on his heels. 

“What I am trying to say if you have the potential for bowling.” The hyur before him simply nodded. “Will you be interested in playing again?”

Ephraim shrugged languidly. “Sure.”

They were in the vestiary now, everyone grabbing their coat. Ephraim was sluggishly looking for his outerwear, caressing every parka, murmuring “ _ oh no, not this one. Not this one. No, it’s not it.” _

“That is great news! You see, I am the captain of the Armadillos Bowlers. We are not at full capacity at the moment and we could use your talent for the upcoming tourney.”

“Uuuh…”

Ruruka was sinking a beanie on her head when she turned toward them and snapped: 

“Ephraim, just tell him to piss off.”

“But that’s not nice.”

“Who cares!”

Buttoning his tweed coat, Celestin pressed on. “We have a practice earthday, at this very establishment, maybe you could drop in and see if you like it?”

Ephraim had finally found his poncho, tugging it away from its hanger. “Maybe… Can my friends come too?”

Celestin made a contrite smile, shoving his hands in his winter gloves. “I am very sorry, we are part of the men league. Mixed teams exist solely in free-for-all.”

Ephraim’s head popped out of the poncho’s neck hole. “That sucks.”

“I understand the sentiment.”

Cecilia, watching through the window, suddenly jumped. “Guys! The bus is on the street’s corner!”

Ephraim waved to Celestin. ”Well, thanks! I have to go. Goodbye!”

He was about to get out of  _ The Drowning Wench _ when Celestin grabbed him by the elbow. “Wait!”

“He’s touching him!” Ruruka’s voice pitched up. “Cecilia! Quick, break his arm!”

Miss Danger’s expression changed in a split second. That carefree smile faded away into a cold-blooded stare. Celestin felt his testicles retracting in his body.

Cecilia stepped forward. “Stranger danger!” 

_ I am going to die. _

“Stop!” Celestin immediately let go of Ephraim’s elbow. “I am not touching him anymore! Look!”

Everyone froze.

Outside, the public transport bus passed through the streets.

“No!” Ruruka, in a gesture of pure desperation, clawed her cheeks through her mittens. “We missed it!”

“We can still make it if we run!” Cheeped Cecilia, back to her peppy self.

Pint-sized Sass Master tiptoed to look through the window. “We can’t. It’s already gone.” 

“It’s okay!” Cheered her friend. “Let’s wait for the next one! We can use the time to become even gooder friends!”

Ruruka sulked. “You mean waiting here for one  _ hour _ ?” 

“Maybe not… Let’s walk home then!”

“In the middle of  _ winter?  _ It’s cold!” 

“We can sing songs to keep ourselves warm!”

“...I will not sing anything.”

“I will sing for two!”

While the two women keep having their back and forth, Celestin spoke out. 

“I…” No one looked at him. He tried again, louder. “I will drive you home.”

That caught the attention of Ruruka, who stared at him, a frown on top of another frown. 

“You’re still here?”

“Yes. It is my fault if you missed your bus.”

She crossed her arms on her chest. “It’s totally your fault.” 

“I am sorry.”

“I…” she air quoted the next word, “ _ appreciate _ your offer but I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you knowing where we live.”

“You are free to wait… or walk and sing songs.”

She puffed her cheeks, looking away. “Humpf!”

“We got a ride?” Cecilia clapped her hands. “Nice! I’m sitting on the front!”

“Suit yourself. I don’t want to sit next to this nerd,” mumbled Ruruka. 

Ephraim said nothing, staring at the ceiling, his eyes glassy and distant. He murmured something intelligible, looking at no one. What was going on with him? Ruruka tugged on his sleeve. That seemed to make him snap out of whatever he was in. 

After a quick walk through the freezing winter of La Noscea (and this comment from Ruruka: “ _ This is your car? It’s so ugly. _ ”), they were on their way home. 

“Just drop us at the Arcanist University,” said the lalafell, from the back seat.

“Very well,” answered Celestin, taking West Hawkers’ Alley. He glanced at Ephraim, using the interior mirror. “Are you free next earthday?”

“Gods, you don’t know when to quit, do you?” Groaned Ruruka.

Ephraim returned his look. “Uuuuh, maybe. I’m not sure.”

The tiny lass looked at his friend. “Wait, you’re not going to say yes, are you?”

“I-I… Well, it’s… It could be fun?”

“There’s something he’s not telling you. You need gil to play. You need to pay for your shoes,” she raised her index finger, “your shirt” she lifted her middle finger, “and your bowling ball.” she flicked her ring finger upward. “Don’t forget you need money to enter competitions. Which I guess these guys do or else he wouldn’t be so hellsbent into recruiting you into his team.” 

“That is correct,” confirmed Celestin, gripping tightly at his steering wheel, annoyed. 

“Ah.” Ephraim shrunk into his seat. “Well then. I can’t join. Sorry.”

“I would pay you.” 

“Uuuh…”

“If you join the Armadillos Bowlers, I would pay you for every competitive game you participate in. I would also cover for the expenses of your gear.”

“Wow, he’s _ really _ desperate,” whispered the lalafell to Ephraim. Then, for Celestin, she asked: “How much will you pay him?”

“That is something I would work out with Mr. Ephraim.” (His tone got snappier.) “Alone.”

She crossed her tiny arms on her chest, visibly upset by this answer. “Pfft!”

Here they were. Arcanist University. Celestin parked, then turned his body halfway, toward the back seat.

“Will you think about it?”

“I, um...Alright. I’ll think about it.”

“Let me give you my contact information.”

He reached out for his business card, handing it over to the young man. There were a few seconds before the hyur reacted, slowly raising his fingers to grab the piece of cardboard. He stared at it for what seemed an eternity before turning his attention back to Celestin once more.

“If there is anything, please do not hesitate to give me a call.”

“O.K.”

“Have a great sun. Mr. Ephraim.” A nod toward the other two. “Miss North. Miss Ruruka.”

The trio left his car. Outside, he could hear some bits of their conversation: 

“Ephraim, don’t do it, he’s giving me serial killer vibes.”

“But Ruka,” chirped in Cecilia, “people can’t be murderers. That’s illegal!”

“Do I look that creepy?” Mumbled Celestin for himself.

In a sigh, he shifted gears and left.


	3. APPENDIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stats sheet for every character. This will be updated as I write more!

_E= Very Poor D = Poor C = Average B= Good A = Very good_

**\--Celestin Bellerose--**

Name: Celestin Auguste Evaux Bellerose

Age: 34 years-old

Species: Elezen, Duskwight

Height: 6’0’’

Weight: 160 ponzes

Blood type: AB

Nameday: 15th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon

Bowling ball weight: 14 ponzes

Game average: 200

Technique: ???

Power: ???

Precision: ???

Aether-pool: ???

???

  
  


**\--Qih’wo Lihzeh--**

Name: Qih'wo Lihzeh

Age: 33 summers-old

Species: Miqo'te, Keeper of the Moon

Height: 5’7’’

Weight: 174 ponzes

Blood type: AB-

Nameday: 15th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon

Bowling ball weight: ???

Game average: ???

Technique: ???

Power: ???

Precision: ???

Aether-pool: ???

???

**\--???--**

Name: ???

Age: ???

Species: ???

Height: ???

Weight: ???

Blood type ???

Nameday: ???

Bowling ball weight: ???

Game average: ???

Technique: ???

Power: ???

Precision: ???

Aether-pool: ???

???

  
  


**\--???--**

Name: ???

Age: ???

Species: ???

Height: ???

Weight: ???

Blood type: ???

Nameday: ???

Bowling ball weight: ???

Game average: ???

Technique:???

Power: ???

Precision: ???

Aether-pool: ???

???

**\--???--**

Name: ???

Age: ???

Species: ???

Height: ???

Weight: ???

Blood type: ???

Nameday: ???

Bowling ball weight: ???

Game average: ???

Technique:???

Power: ???

Precision: ???

Aether-pool: ???

**\--???--**

Name: ???

Age: ???

Species: ???

Height: ???

Weight: ???

Blood type: ???

Nameday: ???

Bowling ball weight: ???

Game average: ???

Technique:???

Power: ???

Precision: ???

Aether-pool: ???

**\--Ephraim Travers--**

Name: Ephraim Agatha Travers

Age: 21 summers-old

Species: Hyur, ½ Midlander ½ Highlander

Height: 5’4’’

Weight: 134 ponzes

Blood type: O

Nameday: 19th Sun of the 4th Umbral Moon

Bowling ball weight: ???

Game average: ???

Technique: ???

Power: ???

Precision: ???

Aether-pool: ???

???

**Author's Note:**

> Stats sheet updated for Celestin, Qih'wo and Ephraim!


End file.
